


Son of Ivy

by Hollow_Fan_Soul_55



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Drake parents are dead, Motherly love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tim Drake has powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollow_Fan_Soul_55/pseuds/Hollow_Fan_Soul_55
Summary: What if Pamela Isley finds a tiny toddler Tim Drake after his parents are killed one night much earlier than in canon. And when she heals him from his injuries, he ends up gaining abilities much like hers.How will everything proceed now that Tim is no longer a destined part of the Batfamily, and how will they react to finding out Poison Ivy’s biggest secret even when he is no longer that? Will he still manage to work his way in or will he be outcasted?Inspired by Asphodel Tim Drake, or just Tim with Poison Ivy powers? I don't even know people;someone please stop me, I can’t keep running with these ideas.





	1. To Find a Babe

**Author's Note:**

> Literally someone tell me to stop. I made this today and put this out so people can put an end to me. I beg you, I have too many things already. I can't do more. My other obligations are being ignored in favor of this.

Pamela was not one to deal with humans and their disgusting habits if she could very well help it. Ever since her professor Jason Woodrue betrayed her trust by performing experiments on her she has been disillusioned to the true human nature, her ears opened to the cries of the flora and Earth as it gets destroyed.

Her hate towards them is a fact that was beginning to become well-known by the people of her home in Gotham as she digs her roots in deeper and deeper no matter if the Bat thinks he uproots her by placing her in Arkham Asylum a few times. Citizens who now know to leave her sanctuary alone unless they wish to become fertilizer or her servants.

However, she isn’t _heartless_ toward humankind. Babies and children are not allowed to get hurt on her watch.

Which is why, when she hears the sound of a crash followed by an explosion and then silence while out on her midnight stroll, she isn’t surprised. This is Gotham, after all. So she chooses to ignore it since it doesn’t concern her…… _until_ she picks up on the sound of a child’s soft crying along the roots of her plants just under the burning crackle of flames.

She’s changing direction to investigate in seconds, moving closer and down city block by city block until she comes to what looks like a car crash that exploded against a brick wall. She gets just barely close enough to the long vehicle to peer in and make out a driver and two passengers being eaten by flames before turning away.

Instead of sticking around for the growing sirens to arrive, she follows the sound of hiccups and broken-off whimpers until she turns a corner into a side-alley and spots a tiny child, maybe only three-years-old, dragging himself along. The black-haired boy’s legs are trailing uselessly behind him at awkward angles, clearly broken, and his clothes are soot-covered and bloody.

He’s making pitiful, barely-loud-enough-to-hear sounds as he crawls along, and when he looks over his shoulder and happens to spot her, he goes deathly still. He doesn’t blink or turn his head back around, he doesn’t breathe, and he doesn’t move a muscle.

She crouches down, concentrating on her newest trick to pull the chloroplast from her skin to look caucasian instead of green to make herself look less intimidating toward the small child. “Hey there, little one,” she calls to him, wondering what causes such a small child to keep so quiet when he is so grievously injured.

If he had not been wearing expensive clothing she would think the reason would be that he was a street-boy, but instead, he looks like he is the child of an _elite._

He doesn’t twitch at the sound of her voice, eyes staying pinned directly on her as they almost vibrate in his skull.

The wind, which had been blowing against her back changes direction, and with it, she gets a whiff of the boy. He smells heavily of Scarecrow’s toxins. Her eyebrows furrow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she realizes the car crash must have been an attack instead of an accident.

With a soft sigh, she pushes her own pheromones out toward him, watching as the toddler’s brilliant blue eyes steadily droop before the support his arms had been giving his risen torso fails.

Her vines wind up at her command and catch him, lowering his head to the ground as she moves forward. They coo and crow at him, as they too adore children more than adults.

She has two options here. One is to bring the child back to the crash and hope the police and medical personnel are competent or take him in herself.

In the end, she does **not** trust _any _human but the Bat to be anywhere decently competent, so she takes option two and scooped him up in order to trek back to Central Park.__

__He will need medical treatment._ _


	2. Memories

Pamela may have…made a _slight _miscalculation by taking in the injured lost boy?__

__Her powers in some aspects are still relatively new to her when she has no way of testing them, so she had assumed plants she makes on her body would be fine to heal the boy with due to the fact they are not meant to be toxic, but it turns out her natural blood toxicity was more powerful than she thought._ _

__It also may not have helped that she had……neglected to wait until Scarecrow’s own toxins had left the child’s system. Thus, her healing has had some………strange results._ _

__It was just like with her own transformation. He was dying from her poisons and toxins, but his body was fighting it as hers had._ _

__It was also becoming _dependent_ on them so she kept administering the herbs until his own body started creating his own. Within two fitful weeks of sweaty fevers, hazy mumbling, hallucinations, and pained cries muffled as if by instinct left her with a pale green boy wobbling on unsteady legs coated entirely in vines like a fawn after her._ _

__“You will have the world, my sapling,” she had decided as he clung to her and she stroked his hair. She grows used to his presence trailing her as she does her rounds, sunbathes when the sun is available, bathes, and people-watches._ _

__It is during their patrol, on the third week, that he whispers “mama” in a voice he never raises, followed by, “they sing?”_ _

__She slows her pace even further and inclines her head to look down at him, his left eyes a hazy blue, while the right was a vivid green leaking like thin twisting vines into the sclera a few centimeters. He is watching her flytraps sway in the filtered sunlight, his own body following the motion._ _

__She hums to him. “Are they now, buttercup? Is it pretty?” He nods to her slowly, humming a nature-song under his breath as he holds onto the vines twining around her own leg, now back to a similar pale green as his own._ _

__His powers seem to have been amplified in some aspects compared to her own, on top of everything else. They haven't tested yet, but even now while she herself can talk and hear plants if she wishes, he doesn’t seem to be able to stop. Perhaps this will be an aspect of himself he can control eventually, but for now, it seems that he is at the mercy of her gifts._ _

__Her gifts that seem to have mutated with Scarecrow’s toxins, and taken away most of his memories and who knows what else. He calls her his mother, and she had given up correcting him after he blinked owlishly at her and asked why, since she had named him._ _

__Because she had. She named him Oleander Isley. An unconventional name, to be sure, but to call him Timothy Drake would be an insult to his survival. The world –or at least Gotham– believe the entire Drake family to have all perished, and she wouldn’t throw him to their feet so carelessly simply because she didn’t change his name._ _

__She was thorough. Oleander’s birthday is July 19th, the day his powers settled and he bloomed, whereas Timothy Drake’s was September 23rd. She checked his current DNA sample and confirmed he now no longer matched with the deceased boy, matching more to her than his former parents._ _

__She was now, for better or worse, Oleander’s mother._ _

__“Mama?”_ _

__Speaking of… “Yes?”_ _

__“Tired, legs hurt, up please?”_ _

__She leans down and instantly has small arms wrapped around her neck, pulling on her hair as a face nuzzles her neck. She straightens and starts walking quicker now that she doesn’t have to move slowly for toddler-strides, listening to her little flower’s soft humming as chubby fingers play with the leaves in her hair and framing her neck._ _

__He never spoke in many words, but he was slowly growing better as speaking. He tells her now when his legs bother him, instead of keeping quiet._ _

__“Mama?”_ _

__Sigh._ _

__She turns her head slightly, running a hand over short hair —avoiding the supple stems growing behind his ears and across his temple— and down his flaky back. He would need more water earlier today, and perhaps some stronger food… “Yes?”_ _

__“Flying turns to falling, falling filled with red, cries and screams echo around, bright lights and a neverending crowd. Silence tense, filled with bottled gas, fire and hurt.” he pauses to take a single breath. “What do my dreams mean, mama?”_ _

__Pamela blinks and shifts him in her arms effortlessly, barely even able to feel his weight. She doesn’t pay attention to the news often, but even she knows Bruce Wayne adopted an orphaned circus boy because his parents fell on the trapeze. The Flying Graysons, she thinks they were called._ _

__They died the day Pamela found Oleander. Parents who were gassed and then crashed and then burned. Could her sapling have been at that fall?_ _

__“It is your past, sapling,” she says, voice firm. “You grow from your past, never let it go but never let it hold you back and shade over your future. Do you understand?”_ _

__Oleander hums, blinking slowly. “I really liked the colorful boy. He was nice to me.”_ _

__The Grayson boy. Oh, Pamela may regret saying this later… “Perhaps you’ll meet him again one day.”_ _

__“Mmm” is her only response before he falls asleep against her shoulder. She lays him out in the patch of sunlight and curled up next to him. As she runs her hand over his side she can’t help but relish this. She has always wanted a family._ _


End file.
